Julia Ruth Smith

You order the origami squares from Amazon in shades of blue, the colour of his eyes, his favourite colour, and gather trinkets while your mother is sob-ridden in her aching bed.  Your own eyes are cherries weeping from sudden blossom in a warm spring. No one warned you about the ticking of a clock in […]

Looks like he could bite, tapping on the steering wheel, looking down his long snout, his oily musk filling the space between you. You put a hand on his knee to calm your own nerves and he bellows. As if there’d never been gentle rubbing and bubbles in murky waters, as if you’d never twisted

Under the duvet you are completely, excruciatingly alone. Put a foot out, let it touch the floor; shrivel back. It’s hard but you must insist. Drag yourself to the kitchen; let blistering coffee open your eyes. Do not check your phone. You’re wasting your time. He has gone.
 Let the bathroom steam up. Sing if